Dante’s mouth drops to Cole’s throat. Teeth scrape along the tendon. Cole’s head tips back, and his grip clamps down on Dante’s shoulder hard enough that his knuckles pale. The sound he makes is thin and high when Dante reaches the spot below his ear. Dante already knows. His mouth stays there, and Cole’s whole body tightens.
Cole’s breath catches when Dante’s teeth find his collarbone. Dante’s hands flex on Cole’s hips when Cole grinds down against him. They move without speaking, Cole shifting his weight forward, Dante’s thigh flexing upward beneath him, the angle changing until Cole’s next exhale carries a sound that is not a word.
My hand is on my own thigh. I press my fingers into the fabric of my jeans. The ache between my legs builds with every sound they make, every shift of muscle under skin, every second of watching the two men I love take each other apart on a hotel bed while I sit six feet away and refuse to move.
“Pants,” I say, and my voice is thicker than it was.
Cole climbs off Dante’s lap. They strip each other standing beside the bed, Cole’s sweats, Dante’s joggers, then their boxers. Dante’s cock makes my breath catch even though I have seen it a hundred times, the piercings catching the low light, six silver barbells climbing the underside, and my stomach drops every single time.
Cole wraps his hand around Dante. The first stroke makes Dante’s abs clench and his head tip back. Cole’s grip adjusts. He knows the pressure, knows to tighten on the upstroke where the barbells create friction, knows the rhythm that pulls Dante apart fastest.
“Fuck,” Dante breathes.
His hand finds Cole’s cock. They sink onto the edge of the bed, stroking each other, foreheads touching, the rhythm building between them. Two athletes with each other’s bodies memorized. They keep the sounds quiet, low enough for dark rooms, closed doors, and six years of learning exactly what the other needs.
I cannot sit here anymore. I stand. Both of them turn.
Dante’s hand slows on Cole. Cole’s stills on Dante. Before I remove a single piece of clothing, both of them go still, and my skin tightens like their hands have already crossed the room.
I pull my shirt over my head. Then my bra. My jeans. My underwear last. My clothes land on the hotel carpet, one piece at a time.
Their eyes stay on me.
I walk to the bed.
“Move back,” I say to Dante.
He shifts, sliding up the mattress until his back is against the headboard. Cole stays near the foot of the bed until I follow Dante and straddle his lap. Then he comes closer behind me. Dante’s cock presses against my stomach, the barbells warm against my skin. His hands find my waist, and the grip is hard enough to feel tomorrow.
I reach behind me without looking and find Cole. My hand hooks his jaw, pulling him forward until his chest presses against my back, his cock against my lower back, his mouth on my shoulder.
“I’m going to ride you,” I say to Dante. “And he’s going to watch from right here.”
“I’m going to do more than watch,” Cole says against my neck.
His hand slides down my stomach and between my thighs. Two fingers part me, finding the wetness that has been building since I told them to kiss. He groans against my shoulder.
“You’re soaked.”
“I’ve been watching you two for twenty minutes. The math checks out.”
Dante reaches between my thighs from the front, his hand closing over Cole’s. Both of them touch me at the same time, their fingers overlapping, working me together. The dual pressure makes my hips jerk. Cole circles my clit while Dante pushes inside me, two fingers deep, curling forward. My head drops back against Cole’s shoulder.
“Condom,” I manage.
Dante reaches behind him to the gym bag Cole dropped by the headboard. He gets a condom, tears it open, and rolls it on without looking away from me. I rise on my knees and position myself. His cock presses at my entrance, and I lower onto him slowly, inch by inch, each barbell dragging a sound out of me I cannot suppress. The second. The third. By the fourth, my nails are in his shoulders.
“All six,” Dante says quietly, watching my face.
I take all six. I sink down until he is fully inside me, six barbells pressed deep, the fullness stretching me in ways that narrow my vision to the two dark eyes inches from mine.
“There,” I breathe.
Cole’s hand stays between my legs, his fingers on my clit while I am impaled on Dante. His other hand finds my breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. His mouth stays on the back of my neck, teeth grazing the spot below my hairline.
I start to move.
The rhythm is slow, a careful roll of my hips that drags the piercings deep on every stroke. Dante’s hands grip my waist while I set the pace. I roll forward, and the third barbell hits the spot that makes my thighs shake. I roll back, and Cole circles harder.
